A New Seed
by Alyria Moleno
Summary: Tate and Violet work on their relationship, while both are confused about where they want it to go.
1. Chapter 1

He sat, back against the wall, staring at the blackness that filled the basement. He knew there were other people down there, too, but he managed to ignore them most of the time. His hand lay pressed against his groin. Their blood sprayed against the walls as I shot a bullet through their heads. Their brains made neat modern art against the white stucco canvas. I looked down the hallway to see who my next prey would be, when I saw her standing beside me. She had a handful of bullets that she was holding out to him. "Let's finish this. These shitheads don't deserve to get out." He rubbed is groin harder, a small moan escaping his mouth. They continued down the hallway, knocking on classroom doors as they passed them. Every time they heard a muffled scream they would break the door open, sending bullets into every chest there was. By the end of the hallway they were both covered in blood. She jumped on top of him, nibbling at his neck, licking up the blood that wasn't theirs. His hands moved to her-

"What the fuck are you doing?" Her voice ran through his fantasy, erasing it from his mind. He smiled up at her, that quirky, murderous smile he provided when she always knew he was about to bullshit her.

He rubbed his cock harder, more obviously. "I was just imagining fucking you for the first time." It wasn't exactly a lie. She could have been a virgin in his fantasy. He hadn't made up his mind yet. It would provide an awful lot more blood.

She glared at him, one hand on her hip, the other rubbing her neck. "How tight was I?"

He coughed out a harsh laugh. "I don't know. I haven't got there yet." He closed his eyes, attempting to go back into the fantasy. Seconds later, his hand was being pulled off his cock, and replaced with a much smaller, much more delicious one. He moaned, pulsing into her. "That's not how the fantasy goes. We're way past the touching part."

She tilted her head. "Tell me about it."

He smirked. "Why don't I show you instead?" He opened his eyes, looking into hers and trying to see if she was real.

He stepped back, standing. "Last time you denied me that right. Who's to say you won't do that again? You tease." The words came out in anger, but the last two were tinged with a longing not even he could put words to. He was standing in an instant, arms on her waste, pushing his hard member against her. His mouth was practically against hers, "You have no idea how badly I want to have you."

She pushed him away, eyes mere slits. "If you weren't lying to me, then you would've fucking done it by now." Her words screamed a challenge at him, a challenge that he was determined to win. But, he knew he wouldn't do it here. Not in this basement where everyone could see.  
>He put his hand back on his groin. "I want you so bad, Violet. It just has to be perfect. This basement is not perfect."<p>

She nearly spat the next words, "What about the beach wasn't fucking perfect?"

Wham. She shot him straight in the chest. He was at a loss. How could he tell her what she needed to hear without breaking her heart. "Vi, it was Halloween. Do you know what happens on Halloween? All the dead rise. How would you have known if it was really me?"

She shot him a glare. "Fuck off, asshole."

"That's not a nice thing to say to a guy who was only trying to protect you." He gave her a hurt expression, but his eyes were laughing.

Why did he always bullshit her about that night on the beach? Every time she asked him he told her something completely different. She'd had enough. "Tate, if you'd prefer someone dead, then maybe you should take a look around you. I'm sure you can find someone in this house to suit your perverse needs."

Fuck. That's twice now - right in the chest. He loved her bile; it turned him on like nothing else could. But that one hurt. He took a step towards her, his arms outstretched to wrap around her. But as he took a step, she took an equal step backwards. Her arms were crossed over her chest. She looked about ready to bolt. "Fuck, Tate. What do you want from me?"

This question made him stop. What the fuck didn't he want from her? "Everything, Vi. I love you. I want all of you. I want you in every way possible. Forever." His words were so honest, not even he could pull off making them seem like a lie.

It was her turn to be taken aback. That was not what she was expecting. Not pure honesty – he was rarely honest. "Tate…" His name came out of her lips in such a desperate whisper that he was instantly at her side. "Violet." His lips were upon hers, her lower lip between his teeth, his hand grasping her neck while the other slid to her hip, pulling her right against him. He pushed her against the wall, pushing into her, her nipples hard enough that he could feel them against his chest through her bra. A moan escaped him as she slid her tongue into his mouth, pressing her body against his. He ground his groin into her in rhythms, her legs parting just enough for him to be tempted to strip her then and there. He bit at her ears, at her neck. The hand that was on her hip slid around to her front, fingers running along her hipbone. She gave off a deep moan, goose bumps sprouting all over her body. She pressed harder into him, but he pulled away, making room for his hand to roam up to her breast. He slid the cup to the side, just enough to feel her hardened nipple. He squeezed it between his fingers, causing them both to moan and convulse. "Fuck, Vi, you're so perfect." She moaned, pressing her groin into his.

Suddenly, he pulled off her. He closed his eyes, looking suddenly angry and sad all at once. "I can't Vi, I can't have you like this."

"What the fuck, Tate?" She ran up the stairs, slamming the basement door on her way out. 


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

She prowled up the stairs, the hallway to her room seemingly black and endless. She slammed her door, automatically heading to her iPod dock. She stuck it on random shuffle, rolling her eyes at coincidence when "Bad Love" by White Lies started playing. She plopped herself onto her bed, grabbing her smokes and an ashtray, lighting one hastily. She took a slow inhale, the smoke hot against her lungs. Tears pushed their way forward out of frustration, but she refused to let him get the better of her.

He didn't know she knew he was dead. He refused to let her find out by feeling the bullet holes rattling his chest. He knew if they got far enough, if her hand travelled up there, she'd know. He didn't want her to find out that way. How could he tell her he was dead? "Hey, Vi, so, I murdered a bunch of people seventeen years ago, and the FBI caught me and shot me full of bullets. My insides covered your bedroom floor." No. Even the voices in his head weren't stupid enough to think she'd react well to that. He moved to the wall, sliding down it, the concrete grinding into his back. The pain brought clarity, but not answers.

"She's not weak, Tate. She can handle it. It might even be good for her. That's all you want, right?"

Tate glared into the darkness, not seeing anyone. Maybe the voice was coming from his head. For all he knew, the voices always came from his head. "I want her to be safe." The words weren't sad, they weren't even mad or confused. He had long ago come to terms with what he did to the students. He'd do it all over again if given the chance.

"Then you need to leave her. You're no good for her." The voice spoke calmly, bored, as if giving an algebra lesson.

Tate stood and threw a punch at the wall. He heard his knuckles crack against the concrete. "I can't do that. I love her."

The voice laughed, as it faded into the darkness. Almost immediately he missed it. The rage built up in him, his hands clenching into fists as he fell to the floor screaming.

She was already grabbing for her second cigarette. What could he possibly be hiding from her? It's not like she didn't know he watched her sleeping, that he was dead and that he did those things that caused him to be dead. She loved him anyways. Sure, she hadn't said it. But he should just fucking know. It's not like it isn't obvious every time she holds him and screams at him and hurts him. There isn't anyone else worthy of her attention. "Tate, I love you. Fucking know it!" She spoke into the empty room, her teeth grinding against each other. She realized she had grabbed the comforter as she spoke, her whole body clenching into a kind of ball. The cigarette had stained the comforter, but she didn't care. It smelled faintly like burning fabric, but the anger driving her didn't care. She screamed into her knees, her nails pushing holes into the comforter.

The moment she spoke his name aloud he heard it. He heard the words after, too. In seconds he was in her room, watching her anger pour out of her. He moved, unnoticed, to the bed, sitting beside her and wrapping his arms around her. "Shh, Violet. I know."

She spun, reeling out of his grip. She glared at him as she reached for another cigarette. She wasn't ready for him to hear her say those words. She wasn't even sure she knew how. Did he hear her? "How did you get in here?"

He lifted his hand and took the cigarette from her hands. "When you speak to me, I always pay attention."

Her brows furrowed in confusion. She grabbed the cigarette package and pulled another one out, sticking it between her soft lips, dropped the package and grabbed the lighter, letting the fire linger for a moment before lighting her smoke. "Tate, you're fucked." She stood, pacing around the room. "Do you think you can just play with me forever? One day you're going to have to tell me what the fuck is your problem."

He looked at her with blank eyes before suddenly laughing out loud. He fell backwards onto the pillows, he was laughing so hard.

"Tate! Fuck!" She was in front of him without knowing it, the slap ringing around the room, her hand stinging. She closed her eyes, her teeth grinding again.

Tate stopped laughing, his hand moving to his face, his fingers gently touching the spot that stung. "Violet, you already know, don't you?"

She opened her eyes, giving him a look that would sting all over again. "Know what, Tate?"

Tate was silent for a moment, looking at her, trying to read her thoughts. "You've been different, Violet, towards me."

She got quiet, sitting on the side of the bed. "What am I supposed to know, Tate? Things that your crazy mother made up? Things my parents want me to believe? That the world is going to end one day and we're all going to go down with it? You know as well as I do that nothing is for ever. Nothing is solid."

For him, that was as good as a confession and forgiveness. He closed his eyes, the voices in his head finally silent.

"Tate, just tell me what I need to know."

He put his hand under her chin, opening his eyes. He led her face towards his, placing a kiss upon her lips. "Violet, I love you. I will protect you from everything that would ever hurt you. You can't call love an object, it isn't solid, but it will last forever. Nothing is going to change the fact that you are my world. That you keep me alive."

For her, that was as good as a confession and an apology. She closed her eyes, having seen all the emotion in him she could handle. Slowly, she pushed him backwards, placing herself on top of him. Her weight held him down. She wasn't about to let him get away.

The music played around the room as he wrapped his arms around her.

She felt odd bumps on his stomach, and placing her hand under his shirt she realized he was full of holes.

He had stopped breathing as he felt her hand reach under his shirt.

She looked up at him, her fingers tracing the holes in slow, circular motions. For so long she didn't want to know the truth. But, now that she knew, she felt oddly calm. Tears fell from her eyes as he saw true acceptance in them, something he never expected to get from her. He found his breathe, as she turned her head and placed it on his chest. They fell asleep with her fingers tracing his wounds, her tears staining his shirt, his arms around her, and the music shutting out the rest of the world that they'd both forgotten about long ago. Her mouth moved slowly, in those last moments before sleep, "I love you, Tate." 


	3. Chapter 3

The words from the night before rang through his head. "I love you, Tate." They were more of a whisper, that he wasn't even sure she knew she said. But even remember them brought tears to his eyes. He loved her so much, the fact that she finally said it back made him so happy, and yet, he felt a tug on his soul, a tug unlike any he'd ever felt. He felt a tug when he knew it was right to kill those students. He felt a tug when he first saw Violet. But he'd never felt one quite like this. It unnerved him. He stalked around the basement, feeling the others there, too. He knew she wasn't off school until three, and it was only two-thirty. He paced, waiting, always waiting. Why did the dead always wait for the living? Why not the other way around? Maybe the goal of living was to die. Maybe that's why he was still here, and so were all these other people. Maybe this is what existing meant. He shook his head. If this was existing, then why did those people he killed only come back on Halloween? That didn't make sense. He was the odd one out. The other people that lived in this house were odd, too. It must be the house. Nothing else would explain why all these souls were here year-round, when normally the dead only walk on Halloween.

He stalked up the stairs, angry now. Why should he be special? Was it Violet's fault? Did she keep him here? His anger dissipated slowly. If it was Violet he would've done the same thing. But she wasn't here before, and he was still able to prowl around the house. So, it had to be the house. Too many people in here over time to have it be anything else. He found himself in Violet's room, his old bedroom, staring at her empty bed. She had covered the windows with old newspaper, making the room completely dark all the time. It smelled of Marlboro's and black coffee, but with a hint of lavender. She always smelled like cigarettes, he'd never noticed the lavender before. Why didn't he notice the lavender, where was it coming from? He searched her room, trying to locate the home of the smell. In one of her drawers he found a bottle of what appeared to be perfume - something he'd never seen her use. It looked old, the label mostly warn away. He looked back in the drawer, trying to see what else was there. Was this even hers? It hadn't been here when he occupied the space, so it must be. But she would never wear something that made her smell so...so feminine. The bottle was about half empty. Obviously, it had been used. He turned it over in his hand, but no answers came to him. He set it back in the drawer, but noticed a wet spot where it had been. It must have been leaking, which was why he'd been able to smell it. He set it on top of the dresser, rummaging through the drawer. He found a few old books and a necklace he'd never seen her wear. There was a single big leaf that had been dried and a few burned CDs. They didn't have track lists, but he was determined to know what she had put on them. He made a mental note to play them tomorrow, when she was at school again.

He looked around the room for a clock, but noticed there wasn't one. Interesting. Who didn't have a clock in their bedroom? His lips curled into a wicked smile. People who didn't have clocks were the ones who didn't conform. Who didn't care what limits the others put on their lives. They lived the way they felt necessary. He liked that about Violet, she was her own person, and she lived the way she saw fit regardless of what everyone else thought. He lay on her bed silently, arms under his head, remembering being riddled with bullets. What a poetic end. He had been hit with fourteen bullets through the abdomen. Wasn't that how many bullets he'd used at the school? Although, not all of them died - unfortunate as that may be. He didn't notice the smile that spread on his face as he remembered how the impact felt, and how quiet it was after. Suddenly, the whole world was on mute, and he was able to think as loudly as he wanted. The voices had been muted, too, which was an intense relief. For years they had always been there, like a bad song stuck on replay, the headphones stuck in your ears. They came to him now, but not constantly and when Violet was around, they went away entirely. She made him feel calm. She made the world go on mute. Violet. "Violet." The sound of his own voice startled him, but her name danced around the room in such a way that made him almost feel she was there. "Violet." He said it again louder, louder. "Violet!" The force of the sound had made him sit up in her bed. He decided to wander some more, exploring the parts of her room that not even she remembered. Scribbled notes fallen behind dressers, journals on bookshelves that she had written poetry in. He loved all these bits of her. He loved every bit of her and each one that he found made her more complete, and less a figment of his imagination. He had found an old school notebook, one that was apparently for english. Sitting at the foot of the bed, hardwood floor pressed against his ass, wrought iron poles pressing between his shoulder blades, he flipped through it. In most girls' notebooks you'd find guys names in hearts, and doodles of "Carry + Ashley = BFF's", but not in hers. In Violet's notebooks he found lyrics scribbled, and poems that he wasn't sure if she'd written or not. Her prose was fabulous, essays and fiction alike. He wasn't sure what the prompts were, but she had written pages and pages worth of things from her mind. Another bit of her for him to cherish.

As he was reading he heard her come up the stairs, clunk, clunk, clunk. He heard her hand hit the doorknob of her bedroom and the door swing open. She had her headphones in, but the look on her face when she saw him was loud enough. "Hi, Violet. Welcome home." A smile came to the boys face as he saw the look of annoyance on hers.

"Tate, that's my notebook. Why are you looking through my stuff?" Her glare ate through him, but she couldn't help but be curious at the same time as annoyed. She dropped her bag on the floor, her arms crossed as she stared at him.

He stood and moved over to her, placing a kiss upon her forehead. "I was bored." He paused, looking into her furious gaze. "You are different, you know. Than all those people out there who care about all that superficial stuff. You are real, Violet." He stood back from her, running his fingers across her cheek. He lifted the notebook, waving it around a little. "Did you know how like your father you are? At least that you are both analytical. Only, he doesn't [I]think[/I], you know? He just acts, follows his instinct or whatever. You...you get it. You think." He pushed a stray hair out of her face, letting his fingers still while grazing her skin. He loved the way she felt. "Violet."

She smelled like cigarettes, and musty school books. Putting his hand on her neck, he pulled her towards him and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair, inhaling her scent. He suddenly got a flashback of that last day when he shot everyone and the way their heads rolled and their hair splayed out, soon to be soaking in blood. He couldn't help but flinch back with a small smile on his face. She reminded him nothing of those girls, those half-beings who called themselves girls. Real girls were the ones that didn't cake their faces in makeup and didn't wear high-heels and get breast implants. Violet was a real girl.

He stood there, head tilted, staring at her for quite some time before pulling her into a hard, passionate kiss. His hand found the door and pushed it shut, pushing her body up against it with his. His head was spinning, he loved the way her body felt, so soft and warm. He could have her right then and there, but then he would be violating his own rules, and he wouldn't have that. He fell into her, breathing hard, lips pressed against each others. Her name escaped his mouth again, in a rush of warm air. "Violet." He paused. "I love you, too."

She had become immediately involved in the moment, all anger fading away. At his last four words, her face turned a bright crimson. She didn't say anything, just let him feel his way around her. Together, they maneuvered to the bed, falling into it with him on top. He pushed himself against her, she wrapped her legs around him.

"Tate…please…" Her words came out with so much passion he couldn't stand it. He moaned, his hardness pulsing against her.

He got still, suddenly, looking into her face. "Violet, are you sure you want to lose something this important to a dead guy?"

She laughed softly, her hand pounded against his chest. "Tate, I've known for a long time, now. It doesn't change anything."

He searched her for a second of doubt, anything that would tell him to stop, but all he could see was need. He knew that need was for him, and he knew that she wouldn't have been able to pull that off if it wasn't true. He pulled off his shirt, her following suit by moving her hand to pull her own off. He stopped her, placing his hand upon hers and moving it to the bed. He slid his hand under her shirt, catching it with his thumb and lifting it slowly. He placed kisses upon her at random, short intervals. When her shirt was high enough for him to see the bottom of her breast he paused, taking a deep breathe, his member flexing hard against her thigh. She moaned loudly, not holding anything back. She rocked against him, pushing herself as close to him as she could get. "Tate, stop teasing!"

He smiled at her, nibbling on the skin covering her ribs. Finally, he pulled the shirt all the way off. All the ways he wanted to ravage her, and yet he was being so soft. He threw her shirt to the side, reaching for her bra, and slowly taking it off. He stared at her breasts for a while, memorizing them and the hard nipples that came with first exposure. He smiled, cupping them in his hand before leaning down and sucking them softly.

She moaned and twitched under him, her fingers grabbing his shoulders.

He moved down her stomach, sitting slightly to pull her pants down. When she was completely naked he paused, his fingers lingering on her thighs. He noticed her goose-bumps, and smiled. He'd never done something like this with anyone before. He was so soft, so loving.

He leaned down as his name came from her mouth. She was so wet, his finger slipped all over the outside of her. He licked her clit, flicking his tongue back and forth. She squirmed, getting impossibly wetter. His finger slid inside of her slowly, gently. He watched her face, looking to see if he was hurting her. He wasn't.

"Tate! Please!" Her words were begging him, and his member pulsed ever harder.

"Soon, Violet."

Her groan of disapproval made him laugh. He moved his finger out of her, then pushed it back in. He felt her pulse around him and he couldn't take it any more. He slid off his pants and lay naked on top of her. His member pushed against her opening, but he didn't let it slip inside quite yet. "Violet, you must promise to tell me if I hurt you, okay?"

She nodded, moaning, her finger nails digging into him. She twitched under him, pushing against him but failing to make him enter her.

He laughed at her attempts, pushing slightly, slipping just inside. "Ahhh." He moaned, having forgotten how fantastic taking someone for the first time was. An awkward sound escaped her lips, so he stopped being only an inch or two inside of her. She shook her head, pushing against him. "Tate!" He chuckled, pushed a little more, and felt her part for him. She was so warm, so inviting, so tight. He let out another moan which made her pulse and push against him.

He pushed all the way inside, paused a moment, and pulled out slowly. "Ah, Tate!" Her finger nails pulled him ever closer, leaving red streaks along his back.

He entered her again, pulled out again, and got into a rhythm. Their bodies rocked together, a perfect harmony. He approached climax, "Violet, fuck, ahhh." He grabbed her, his arms wrapped around her, and pushed deeper inside of her. She felt her own climax reaching and, refusing to let him come yet, continued to rock back and forth until she spasmed, eyes closing tight as sounds escaped her lips. Her hips rocked in ways she'd never be able to do on her own will. He came with her, exploding inside of her.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring into hers, a look of shock and grief upon his face. "Tate, what's wr-" Her words were cut off as he disappeared, and she was left lying on her bed, naked and alone. 


	4. Chapter 4

It had been a few days, with no sign of Tate. She had broken things in fits of anger, sobbed in fits of sadness and hurt. She sat silently on her bed every day, refusing to leave the house lest he come back. The look in his eyes as he disappeared was seared onto her cornea's. Every time she closed her eyes it burned like a bad set of pink eye. She couldn't get rid of it, couldn't sleep. She hadn't gone to school since it happened either. What was the point?

She wandered slowly down the stairs, her knit sweater tucked loosely below her crossed arms. She was shaking, but didn't know why. She wasn't cold. Not physically, anyway. She found herself at the door to the basement, standing there, staring. No one else was home, but that didn't stop her from feeling reluctant to venture down those stairs. What if he wasn't there? What if someone or something else was? She sucked in a deep breathe, her hand on the handle, and threw the door open. She stood there, not making a sound, feeling like a frightened three year old. "Fuck Violet, just do it. What's the worst that could happen?" Her right foot extended, taking the first step into the murky basement. She hadn't gone down there since he'd disappeared. She couldn't bring herself to. She feared she'd see his mutilated body, bleeding and crying. Or something. She really wasn't sure what it was that she was afraid of. But she finally brought herself to do it.

Halfway down the stairs she heard movement from the dark depths of the cold, dank place. "Tate?" She called out quietly, shivers making their way across her skin. "Tate, seriously, stop hiding." A shadow emerged from the darkness, a woman dressed in white.

"There is no Tate, that you speak of. He hasn't been around for a few days. Better not have taken off, he owes me a favour." The woman was young, but had such bitterness in her voice. Her skin was burned and flaky.

Violet closed her eyes. "Do you know where he could have gone?" Her fingernails dug into her arms, where they rested, still crossed.

The woman laughed. "I thought no one left this house. Where he could have gone? I don't know, but do tell me if you find out, I'd like to leave this vile place as well."

With that she disappeared, and Violet opened her eyes to nothing. She fell to the stairs, arms hugging her knees, as tears poured down her face.

The bath water was searing hot, steam rising from the white tub. She wanted to feel something, anything, other than this hurt and emptiness that had been her reality since he left. She stepped into the water, the burn sending goosebumps through her. She closed her eyes, tears welling up, as she sunk into the water, which poured over the edge of the tub. Resting her head against the lip of the tub she closed her eyes, feeling herself get pulled further and further away from reality. Everything she thought she'd known wasn't true, and everything she let her mind accept was turning out to be fake as well. What could she possibly make of all this?

She felt sleep pulling at her, as she hadn't gotten any since it happened. She closed her eyes, swearing she'd just rest them. She didn't know how much time had passed but she knew she'd fallen asleep, she had entered that kind of half awake but dreaming state, where you see things that are dream-like but you still feel whats going on in reality. Tate had been there, beckoning to her to follow him, to come closer so he could hold her. When she woke the water was cold, and she realized that her entire head was under water. She broke the surface quickly, gasping for air, but still not feeling satisfied. She coughed, her hands grabbing the sides of the tub. She got quiet, expecting Tate to be there, to feel his hands guiding her to safety, embracing her, but there was nothing. She looked around the empty room, hoping to find him in a corner watching her, but again there was nothing.

Stepping out of the tub she wrapped a towel around herself before wandering into the hallway. Everything looked kind of out of tune, vibrating almost, as if it wasn't really there. Her feet padded along the wooden floor, leaving no marks where there should have been wet footprints. Her brows furrowed as she padded into her bedroom. What she saw there was something she wished she'd never seen. What she hoped was an image of Tate was flickering between the position he'd been on the bed when he disappeared and his bleeding, bullet-holed body lying on the floor, dying. She noticed almost immediately that his eyes were on her, which couldn't have been where they were when he was dying. She moved closer to the image, but his eyes never left her. "Tate?" She stood at the end of the bed, a few steps away from the images. That same expression was on his face, the one right before he disappeared. His lips moved, but no sound came out, and she had to watch the image of him on the floor for multiple flickering sessions before she understood what he was saying. "Join me."

She had no doubt in her mind that she wanted to. Nothing in this world was worth it without him. She let the towel fall to the floor before slipping under the image of her lover on her bed. It was a perfect fit, of course, and when he flicked back so he was on top of her, looking into her eyes with that horrible, painful look, the flicking suddenly stopped. Their surroundings disappeared this time, the two of them curled together in a seemingly empty, colourless space. He fell onto her, his arms no longer holding him up. "Tate?" His head rose, and he looked into her eyes and smiled, recognition filling his gaze. Tears poured down her face. He kissed her, ravaging her. She pushed him away. "What the fuck happened?" He pulled back, suddenly looking confused. "It was terrible. I felt so happy, so calm with you. And then, I was here. Violet, I was so scared." She was silent, thoughtful. "What does that mean now, though. If you were here before, and now I'm with you…" Her breathing stopped, tears speeding up. He looked at her, eyes widening as he realized what she was saying. "No, Vi, no!"

They lay together, holding each other, hoping something would appear in the emptiness. They both cried, more tears than could possibly have been in their bodies had they been alive. Nothing appeared, but they didn't fade. They held each other, sometimes crying, sometimes not, wondering if this was all they had for the rest of eternity. It would be a long time until they found it. 


End file.
